New Directions
continued from here...
Peter Mead could sense a great discontent within the young woman before him. He'd been seeing this more and more with the chaos of the last few seasons. Men who'd lost wives, Mothers who'd lost children, Brothers who'd lost sisters, trainees who'd lost mentors, commanders who'd lost soldiers. All the death made it very difficult to keep the calm smile pasted to his face.
He could understand how someone could grow to feel that there was no point in making a choice anymore, adopt a 'just tell me what to do' attitude. When there was no joy in life, there could be no satisfaction in your work. Who were you trying to please after all? A grim-faced boss? A teary-eyed co-worker? A gloomy customer? All going through the motions of life? Void of the loves that gave them purpose. As he was...
Everyone had lost someone, and those that hadn't knew better than to show happiness about it in front of those that had. The resentment had led to more than one outburst of violence. But how could those saddened people truly hold such happiness against them? Wouldn't they be happy if they'd not suffered that loss? This restraint led to reciprocal resentment by those who seemed to have everyone else' unhappiness imposed upon them.
The Employment Counselor knew, however, that things would brighten again. He had the advantage of seeing those few that still found joy in life, and work. Often they deliberately took their time in conversation with him, to avoid going back into the joyless streets. But there was no mistaking this girl for one of them, despite the way her indecision seemed to be just stalling for time.
He felt this girl was not stalling for time; but rather stalling for the possibility that someone could find her a reason to go on living. He resolved to be that person. It would start with him; a renewal of purpose. It would start with her; HE would start with her.
He looked at her as if he was looking at himself; as he did every morning in the mirror. "Any line of work..." he said, almost to himself. His eyes no longer really looked at her. They looked through the door to the street beyond, around the turns that led to his now-empty...house. He could no longer call it 'home'.
He lowered his face slowly until his forehead rested in one hand. "I'd give you this job, if I thought you'd be able to put on a better act than I do. Perhaps I should join the theater. Perhaps you could, if they were putting on anything but drama. We've all had our fill of tragedy, and no one is in a mood for comedy, though I think it's what we truly need. I'd give a week's wages for one good laugh."
He felt a brief sense of purging his grief, and took it as a sign to set it aside. "You surely have something in mind. I can see you've suffered something. Frankly, I've seen happier stares in the eyes of tortured soldiers, come home from bloody campaigns." his gaze wandered again. "You see me here. As much as anything, I come here to avoid being in an empty...house. One whose bed used to be warmed by a loving wife."
His eyes returned to the present again, "But avoiding a more wretched sadness is not truly success, my dear. It is the conscious search for the actual lifting of your spirit that allows the possibility of resurrection, isn't it." His brows furrowed as he now turned piercing eyes directly into hers. "You have to want to find that. I can find you a job right now. But a job alone won't create a future if you drag the past to work with you every day. Not unless it is a job that somehow connects with what you are trying to deal with. Umm, by the way, what is your name?"
Peter Mead could sense a great discontent within the young woman before him. He'd been seeing this more and more with the chaos of the last few seasons. Men who'd lost wives, Mothers who'd lost children, Brothers who'd lost sisters, trainees who'd lost mentors, commanders who'd lost soldiers. All the death made it very difficult to keep the calm smile pasted to his face.
He could understand how someone could grow to feel that there was no point in making a choice anymore, adopt a 'just tell me what to do' attitude. When there was no joy in life, there could be no satisfaction in your work. Who were you trying to please after all? A grim-faced boss? A teary-eyed co-worker? A gloomy customer? All going through the motions of life? Void of the loves that gave them purpose. As he was...
Everyone had lost someone, and those that hadn't knew better than to show happiness about it in front of those that had. The resentment had led to more than one outburst of violence. But how could those saddened people truly hold such happiness against them? Wouldn't they be happy if they'd not suffered that loss? This restraint led to reciprocal resentment by those who seemed to have everyone else' unhappiness imposed upon them.
The Employment Counselor knew, however, that things would brighten again. He had the advantage of seeing those few that still found joy in life, and work. Often they deliberately took their time in conversation with him, to avoid going back into the joyless streets. But there was no mistaking this girl for one of them, despite the way her indecision seemed to be just stalling for time.
He felt this girl was not stalling for time; but rather stalling for the possibility that someone could find her a reason to go on living. He resolved to be that person. It would start with him; a renewal of purpose. It would start with her; HE would start with her.
He looked at her as if he was looking at himself; as he did every morning in the mirror. "Any line of work..." he said, almost to himself. His eyes no longer really looked at her. They looked through the door to the street beyond, around the turns that led to his now-empty...house. He could no longer call it 'home'.
He lowered his face slowly until his forehead rested in one hand. "I'd give you this job, if I thought you'd be able to put on a better act than I do. Perhaps I should join the theater. Perhaps you could, if they were putting on anything but drama. We've all had our fill of tragedy, and no one is in a mood for comedy, though I think it's what we truly need. I'd give a week's wages for one good laugh."
He felt a brief sense of purging his grief, and took it as a sign to set it aside. "You surely have something in mind. I can see you've suffered something. Frankly, I've seen happier stares in the eyes of tortured soldiers, come home from bloody campaigns." his gaze wandered again. "You see me here. As much as anything, I come here to avoid being in an empty...house. One whose bed used to be warmed by a loving wife."
His eyes returned to the present again, "But avoiding a more wretched sadness is not truly success, my dear. It is the conscious search for the actual lifting of your spirit that allows the possibility of resurrection, isn't it." His brows furrowed as he now turned piercing eyes directly into hers. "You have to want to find that. I can find you a job right now. But a job alone won't create a future if you drag the past to work with you every day. Not unless it is a job that somehow connects with what you are trying to deal with. Umm, by the way, what is your name?"
